


domino

by hellevator



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellevator/pseuds/hellevator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The connection between what Mickey always tried to get himself to do and what he actually did were so far apart they might as well be different solar systems. Sometimes it worked out to his advantage. Most of the time, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. breakfast

         Ian awoke in his cell to the sound of his bunkmate snoring, the hard cement walls amplifying each breath to an almost deafening level. His throat burned, raw from lack of moisture and from swallowing his anger down for the past 2 weeks. Here he was, back in Chicago.. It took them forever to ship him up from where he had been on base. Made it through basic training and everything. Well, up until he got caught. Who woulda thought Lip Gallagher would be going to fucking college, right? It probably didn't even occur to him that Ian may have stolen his identity to enlist. Yeah, right. Then again, he and Lip weren't exactly on the best of terms before he left, too caught up in their own bullshit to see the bigger picture. If he was honest, he still couldn't see it. In fact, it was more blurry than ever.

 

Hopping off of his bed, he dragged his feet over to the sink and leaned down to get some water from the faucet. He would have used the cup they gave him, but it smelled and probably tasted like the soap that had been crammed in there among the comb and spork. All you need to survive a stint in jail, according to the guard who cockily shoved him in his cell earlier this morning. In a way he was glad he was awaiting sentencing, not quite sure if he was ready to face his bad choices head on in a court room. Especially knowing he was in the exact place he had been running from. The Gallagher pattern was harder to break than anyone gave it credit.

 

The locks on the doors banged open, signaling it was breakfast time. Throwing the top to his uniform on, Ian ran his fingers over his scalp and sighed. He knew he had to make a phone call, he just wasn't sure to who yet. In fact, he still wasn't sure even after he had set up his name with the jail's collect calling agency and entered his inmate number. Fiona? Judgement. Lip? Anger. Fingers quickly dialing before his mind had really thought it through, the redhead sucked in a breath and held it, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

 

"Ian?" Mandy's voice was soft and disbelieving, if he didn't know any better it might even sound concerned. A nice change from the battery of insults slewed at him lately, ones he was sure were worse when muttered while he wasn't in their presence. Apparently, she hadn't heard the news.

* * *

 

Mickey was sitting on his bed when he heard his little sister walk through the front door, slamming it behind her. He would have thought it was Terry if it weren't for the sound of heeled boots clanking down against hardwood. Lukewarm beer in hand, he was in the middle of trying to throw a knife perfectly in the center of a movie poster, something he told himself should be a lot fucking easier than the twelve-pack was making it. Or maybe it wasn't the beers, maybe it was the bottle of Kentucky Deluxe he had finished off about an hour ago. Did he even sleep? Couldn't remember. Svetlana had been working so he was simply savoring the alone time. Anything to keep busy, anything to stay just a little bit numb.

 

"Eggs?" The sound of Mandy's voice behind him set off a pang of anger and he didn't even understand where it even came from. "I won't take no for an answer."

 

Out of everyone, his little sister was really all he had left. It was probably the fact that she had eventually tried to be too understanding that upset him the most. He would prefer getting called a pussy any day over her concerned glances.. Kind of like the ones he was sure he was receiving right now as he sat at the table, picking at his food, not making eye contact. He didn't have to, he could feel her sympathy radiating from her long, bitchy face. Out of spite, he picked up his fork and started shoveling the eggs into his mouth. Sure, he was hungry but the thought of food made his stomach churn in a way that hurt worse than hunger. The boy wasn't about to let her start another "poor Mickey" conversation. Not a chance in hell, and the fact of the matter is she should fucking know better. He wasn't sure where this side of his sister had suddenly come from but he sure as shit wasn't alright with it.

 

"Did you get any sleep last night, shithead?" Mandy's mouth was full as she spoke, the perfect picture of class.

 

There was a quick glare between them, one that said she should mind her own fucking business and one that said he should really be grateful anyone gave a shit at all. It was interrupted by her cellphone ringing, a noise far too loud and far too early for a heavily drunk yet somehow hungover Mickey Milkovich.

 

“Who the fuck is this,” she mumbled, opening her phone and shushing her brother when he tried to make a smart ass comment. Her face fell a little, turned into something he could only describe as serious.

 

"Ian?" A long pause and then, "what happened?"

 

Hearing her speak Gallagher's name, he suddenly wished he hadn't swallowed those eggs.. Everything was about to find its way back up and out of his stomach. Of course, Ian had kept in contact with Mandy since he left. Normally this is the part where Mickey would get up from the table and trudge back to his room, shutting his door so he couldn't hear her laughter or try to piece together their conversations to make himself feel better. Might as well avoid torturing yourself, right? But something about her expression made trying to leave his seat impossible, the alcohol probably also to blame for his sudden lack of will power. Hundreds of thoughts ran through his head during the silence, thoughts he would have gladly stopped with a bullet had someone offered. He probably got his leg blown off. Or even, he was being held prisoner in some war camp somewhere, who the fuck knew? Would you even be allowed to make a phone call? At least he wasn't dead, that was a relief. A twinge of protectiveness slapped him in the face. He wrote it off on the fact that yeah, somebody he.. Somebody he cared about sounded like they were in trouble. He'd come far enough in Ian's absence to admit to himself that Gallagher had been more than an itch he'd needed scratched. Although the realization had gone to waste, didn't change a fucking thing, gave him no more courage whatsoever.

 

Mickey stared intently at his sister, willing her to say something, anything to stop his mind from making up a bunch of shitty scenarios. Scenarios that had already been thought through late at night in his room when everyone was asleep. Honestly, the scenarios that had probably made up most of the reasons he wasn't sleeping in the first place.

 

"Well fuck, Ian, I told you not to do it in the first place.. Yeah, I know, it's okay.. Of course I'll come to see you, dyke guards be fucked. Do you need any money for smokes? I don't know, deodorant or something? We both know you can get a little ripe.." She laughed, fixing the ponytail on the top of her head like she didn't have a care in the world.

 

Mickey’s heart, the one he pretended wasn’t there, sunk to his ass. There was a very confusing flutter on the way down and it made him bite at his lower lip, fingers nervously twitching over the kitchen table. Before he knew it, the conversation was over and she was back to stuffing her face. Glancing up at him with an eyebrow cocked, she tilted her head to the side slightly. He could already tell he was about to hate her even more.

 

"Are you going to come with me?"


	2. misunderstandings & miscommunications

Everyone in the tv room was crowded around a sheet of paper that had been hung up on the guard's window. Ian was sitting in front of the television, minding his own business when he felt a hard knock against his shoulder. This made him stand up and turn around quickly, ready to stand his ground in case anyone felt the need to assert themselves. Truth be told, he was kind of hoping for a fight. Take his mind off of things. It was easier to not worry about your life turning to total shit when your eye was swollen shut and your knuckles were sore.

 

"Gallagher, whoa, calm down." It was his cellmate, a hispanic kid around his age, give or take a few kilos of cocaine that had clearly worn his face down. "You know Mickey fuckin' Milkovich?" He questioned with a smile, feeling like they might finally have something to 'bond' over after 3 days of silence.

 

"What are you talking about?" Ian's eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if he knew this guy from somewhere else or if it was just a coincidence he was mentioning the name of the one person the redhead had tried so hard to forget. Not just forget, but forgive. He didn't like carrying around this weight on his shoulders. It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of him and left a giant hole, gaping in the center of his torso. At least, that's the closest he could equate it too. Not that he had really given it all that much thought.. Still, the grudge he was holding was in full swing, despite his attempts at acceptance.

 

"The visitation list bro, Mickey and Mandy are signed up to see ya today," he pointed over to the page on the window. The color seeped from Gallagher's cheeks and he was sure his eyes didn't hide his emotions either. "Damn, Red! You owe him money or somethin'? Look like yous about to pass out!" he chuckled, trying to break the awkward situation that had suddenly filled the air. "So.. Anyways," his cellmate glanced around, wondering why Ian was acting so weird. "Tell Mandy that Edgar says wassap, alright?"

 

Well, _fuck_.

 

* * *

 

 

      Chewing on the corner of his index finger, Mickey glared at the guard who had brought him and his sister in. "You sure you ain't supposed to be on the other side of that glass, Milkovich?" He laughed, standing up straight with broad shoulders like he was something fucking special.

 

"Fuck you, asshole," the ex-convict said through gritted teeth, flipping off officer dipshit. Like he needed to be anymore tense than he already was. Like Mandy wasn't already making him want to kick a kittens face in with her weirded out mood she'd been in all day. Too bright, too cheery. Fucking creepy.  He swatted at her leg and told her to move her fat ass over, the plastic stool they were sharing squeaking under their weight. It felt seriously hot in there. Mickey was sure there were sweat stains forming on his shirt. Good thing it had been dirty to begin with or he might give a shit.

 

"The fuck did you just say to me?" He questioned, looking over to his sister when he realized she'd been moving her lips incessently since they sat down.

 

"I _said_ ," she started with a huff, "That you should really try to be nicer to the people you care about. Especially when they're not even blood. You can't ju-"

 

"Shut the fuck up, Mandy." He cut her off, his usual harsh tone but there was some pleading behind it. "You even gonna give me a chance or what?" Her eyes softened and he knew he had gotten her to shut up for at least the remainder of their wait. Small victories counted.

 

When Ian finally walked in, Mandy practically jumped out of her seat. It was embarrassing, really. "Ian!" She squealed as she yanked the reciever off the hook, pressing her hand up against the glass. The redhead returned the gesture before he even had a chance to sit down, his lips curling into an adoring smile. Jesus christ, she looked like a school girl around a crush, the way her eyes stared down at the table in front of them and returned his grin. The older Milkovich wasn't even spared a glance. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, anyone with a basic knowledge of body language could tell he wanted to crawl out of his skin. 

 

"You two need a fucking room or what?" He muttered under his breath, his fingers gripping Mandy's hip, commanding her to sit down. 

 

For ten minutes the other two continued to catch up. Mickey had sat there, rubbing his thumbs against his jeans, teeth clutched against his lower lip. Why the fuck had he let Mandy talk him into this? Gallagher thanked her for putting money on his books, she didn't even mention that it was her brother who put out the cash after a last minute heroin deal. That was okay though. She asked Ian about how the visit with Lip and Fiona went after he had mentioned it. Apparently they were not amused in the slightest. Told him that he got himself into this situation and he needed to be an adult and get himself out of it on his own. The irony was not lost on Mickey's part and he even smirked a little, of course the only reason he was here was because he  _wasn't_ an adult. Idiots. But he also knew that their lecturing was more than likely followed by 'we love you's and attempts at comfort. It made him feel a little queasy.

 

"So.." Ian started, clearing his throat. Mickey could barely hear him through the glass, his voice lowered too much by this point but his attention was grabbed when the redhead finally made eye contact. He leaned forward a little bit in the chair. A look of confusion slowly spread across his features at his next words. "What the fuck is he doing here?" 

 

With that, about a million walls that had been broken down in the past few months, walls Ian didn't even know existed went straight back up. For every centimeter Mickey stepped forward, the world made him run 5 feet back. If karma was a real thing, it had something out for him. Hell, it had something out for every Milkovich since his great grandfather if the stories were to be believed. Or maybe they all just lacked courage when it came to anything of importance. 

 

When his sister handed him the phone, he clutched it tightly, knuckles turning almost white against the dark lines of his tattoo. He didn't miss the way Ian's eyes had lingered on the wedding band around his finger. He wanted to scream at him and tell him to go fuck himself. Just wanted Ian to wipe that stupid fucking look off of his face. And then maybe crawl through the glass and have a good old fashioned hate-fuck. Really, he didn't know what he wanted. Didn't know why he was here. Didn't know what he thought any of this would accomplish. 

 

"Hey," he offered, his eyes staring straight into the redhead's in a way that used to make him squirm. Now it just looked like it made him uneasy. Ian's eyebrows narrowed, like a child trying to figure out how this whole suppressing emotions thing worked for the first time. "When's your court date?" Mickey fumbled, trying to erase the silence and the dead look on his ex-lovers face. 

 

"Two weeks," Ian started, looking at Mandy like she was the one who had asked the fucking question. "Went for a bond hearing yesterday and they set it at 50,000. I'm just gonna wave the preliminary and get sentenced, start my time and get this whole thing over with. My public defender said it's my best bet."

 

"That's stupid," Mickey barked out, not able to hide the concern on his face. Since when did Ian go down without a fight? "You get a good lawyer and this whole thing goes away." Well, not completely. He still would never be allowed to enlist in the army again. Mickey felt a strange comfort in that, though he felt guilty for it since he knew, as stupid as it was, Ian had dreams and worked hard towards them. "Unless you really wanna rot in jail for a year," he added.

 

"It's not like there's anything waiting for me on the outside." The redhead emphasized his words with a look that made Mickey want to sink into his chair. Of course, Ian would make this all about them. He had a knack for that. An annoying, obnoxious knack. Sometimes it was endearing. Most of the time it was angering. "Unless you really wanna pretend there is," he added, mocking Mickey's tone. The older boy was suddenly aware again that his sister was right there and it made his skin burn. Made him revert back to what he knew best.

 

"Look man, whatever happened between us can get fucked for all I give. Mandy cares about you for some stupid reason and made me promise that I would help. Why you're being such a little bitch about it, who the shit knows." It was official, he fucking hated himself. At that point, so did the other two people he knew in the room. But he hated the fact that Ian was being arrogant about this, like he thought this was Mickey's half assed attempt at redeeming himself and he wanted to take any chance he got to shut it down. Mickey didn't god damn need redemption, he wasn't even in the wrong. Who the fuck was Ian to suddenly demand everything that he had told him would never happen? And even worse, to be pissed off and heartbroken after he couldn't change at the snap of a finger? To run and hide hundreds of miles away when everything was finally in a place where they could safely see one another again? Most of these angry thoughts had come and gone before but being around him drug them back onto the surface, hotter than ever. Why was _he_ the piece of shit? Why not the one who left their friends and family over a fucking _misunderstanding_. A _miscommunication_..

 

No.. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, crusts of gel getting stuck between the webs of his fingers. He knew better than that and he wasn't happy with it. It was a failure to communicate completely from Mickey's end. Here he went again with the guilt. The look on Ian's face made him wince, out in the fucking open for everyone to see. Mandy had tried to take the reciever back but was met with gritted teeth. 

 

"My brothers got a lawyer that owes us a favor," he breathed out as he cocked his head to the side, almost apologetically. "As for the bond money, give us some time and we'll figure it out. Five grand won't be easy to scrape together, but I gotta few things lined up. Let's just hope I don't get shot over your dumb ass, _again_. Since we both know actions don't mean shit to you anyway." He snarled and jabbed the phone in Mandy's face, standing up and turning around to try and calm himself, already palming his jeans for the pack of cigarettes hidden inside. Stood up so quick that he didn't even see the way Ian's hand reached for him in vain. "Come on," he ordered, barely turning to motion towards his sister. 

 

"Lip is helping too. Don't tell Fiona anything." She whispered and hung up the phone with an all too apologetic look. Gallagher nodded.

 

They had barely made it two steps outside of the jail when Mickey's ear was being pinched hard between two fingernails, making the cigarette recently perched between his lips fall to the ground. "You're a fucking piece of shit, you know that?" She let go and slapped his shoulder, hard. 

 

"Ditto."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. I haven't written in years, but these boys make me feel too much.


	3. confessions

      Mickey could hear Lip and Mandy arguing in the kitchen, though their voices were low and hushed. His mind was still caught up in the visit yesterday. Things couldn't have gone worse if he tried, he was sure of it. Ian was being a smug little asshole and Milkovich was being an ornery prick. Couldn't even give him a chance to smooth things over, just went straight into self pity mode and started with the blame game. Still, it was nice to get to see him. Just to know he was okay though, nothing faggy.

 

Svetlana was sitting on a chair across the room, using a fold up stool to paint her nails, earbuds blaring some type of music Mickey didn't know or care to know about. When she noticed his stare, she looked up and smiled warmly at him. When her husband tipped his head back to squeeze out the last couple drops of his beer, she took the headphones out and pointed to the can. "You want more beer? I go get it," she put the nailpolish down and started moving the chair. Really, with everything considered, she wasn't all that bad.

 

"Nah, got it," he motioned for her to sit back down and hoisted himself up from the couch, belching as he did so. He would deny that he walked as quietly as possible back to the kitchen. They just weren't paying enough attention.

 

"He doesn't give two shits about my brother, I think he's proven that." Lip was standing up against the fridge, Mandy with her arms crossed in front of him, shaking her head. "Don't deny it! You haven't had to deal with Ian depressed again and again, Mickey coming in and out of his life like a fucking revolving door."

 

The older Milkovich wasn't sure what pissed him off more. It was a big tie between Lip clearly knowing about a very private situation or that someone was once again putting words in his mouth without knowing what the fuck they were talking about. Maybe it also had a little something to do with him saying that he had made Ian depressed. That definitely didn't sit well either. It was one thing to think something, a complete other to hear someone confirm your suspicions.

 

"Jesus christ, does _everyone_ know?" Mickey was leaned up against the door frame, looking to Mandy expectantly, his arms out in what could only be called a 'what the fuck?' stance.

 

"No, just me and Mandy," Lip replied, shouldering Mandy away from him gently and getting dangerously close to Mickey's personal space. It sure looked like he was itching for a fight, the way his face ended up merely inches from his. " _Oh_ , and of course your piece of shit dad.. What's that saying? Like father, like son?"

 

That was all either of them needed. Before Mandy had a chance to react, Mickey had Lip in a headlock, smashing both of their bodies up against the wall. The thin plaster cracked, white specks falling all over tiled floor. Svetlana wasn't even phased by the commotion, instead she simply turned her music up and continued painting. You couldn't live in the Milkovich home and not expect a few fist fights.

 

Mandy screamed at them to stop it but her threats fell on deaf ears. Between the grunts and the sound of glass shattering as Lip threw Mickey up against the open cabinet, she could barely hear herself think. Grabbing for the closest weapon, she was surprised that it turned out to be the broom standing by the back door, instead of the numerous guns that were normally laying around. The girl used the opportunity to knock them both upside the head with the stick end, yelling out.

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you two!" Her tone caused them both to stagger away from each other, still never breaking eye contact. Mickey used the bottom of his wife beater to wipe at his nose, the blood dark and thick. "Don't ever compare me to my dad, man. You of all people. Frank fuckin' junior."

 

"Frank junior!" Lip laughed mockingly, his hand resting on the side of his head, applying pressure to a wound. "I'd be at MIT right now if it weren't for you! Now I'm stuck in this shithole, waiting for everything to get figured out and trying to put the pieces back together for my brother. The kid you broke enough that he thought his only option was to illegally go get his head shot off."

 

Mandy could see Mickey start at Lip once again and immediately stood between them, hand pressed up against her brothers chest. Could feel the way his heart was pounding. "Stop!" He finally looked at her and noticed the tears forming in her eyes as she pleaded with him. Great. The last thing he fucking needed was Mandy crying. So, he backed down - still wiping at his nose and mouth when they refused to quit bleeding.

 

"Lip," she started, turning back around to face her pseudo-boyfriend. "Mickey cares about Ian-"

 

"The fuck I do," he interjected, self loathing boiling in the pit of his stomach. It was the first time he'd ever full on denied it. It didn't feel right. There was confidence in his words but his face didn't bother backing up the claim.

 

"One more word and I'll fucking kill you," Mandy warned as she settled between them, her lip curled up at the corner of her mouth. "He cares okay, I have to live with the asshole. I see this huge dark cloud hanging over him every day. As much as he would like to think he can hide it. It's pathetic, really." She could have been going about this in a better way but the tension of it all put her slight mediation skills on the back burner.

 

"Mandy, shu-"

 

"One more fucking word, Mickey!"  She sounded exhausted but she couldn't have been with the force she used to slam the end of the broom against her brother's ribcage.

 

"Alright, alright," he choked out, straightening his shirt before lifting his hands in surrender and once again moving a couple steps back. Besides, that broom was old and full of some serious splinters. They'd had it for years, ever since the last one broke against Iggy's back after their dad found him stealing money from his mother.

 

"So we're going to sit down and we're going to figure this out." She nodded, dropping the broom on the floor, much to the relief of her sibling.

 

"No, no, you know what? No we're not." Lip spat, lighting a cigarette before using that same hand to point at Mickey. "Not with him helping. I don't want him anywhere near my brother."

  
"Yeah well, good thing that's not really your fuckin' choice now, is it?" The older Milkovich went towards the fridge, reaching in to open up a fresh beer. The whole reason he'd walked in here in the first place. Not to be assaulted by some drama queen who knew shit about shit.

 

"Say it." Lip took a drag, folding his other arm across his chest with a stupid expectant look.

 

"Say what?" Mickey questioned, not following. 

  
"Say you care about him. Say it and I'll pretend for just a second that you give a shit about anyone but yourself."

 

Mickey's throat went dry and he took another sip from the can in his hand, gulping it down loudly. "I don't have shit to prove to you." His eyes were avoiding the other two, darting around the filthy kitchen. What was with everyone? Why was it anyones business but himself how he felt and who he felt it towards? All this digging and scratching going on in his head, they didn't realize how empty he felt and how much even he didn't understand. And that was after countless time spent analyzing each and every possible situation. The outcomes, they were all bad. Each and every single one. Some might call him pessimistic. He preferred realistic.

 

"Jesus christ, could you stop being such a pussy for once!" Mandy demanded, clearly on her boyfriends side. Mickey felt like the walls were closing in around him, something awfully dramatic for something he had tried to convince himself didn't mean all that much.

 

"He's.." The older Milkovich started, searching for words between the cracks of plaster among the wall. "He's my best friend," he relented finally after almost a minute of silence, the only noise being a drowned out melody from his wife's ipod the next room over. Crushing the now empty beer can and throwing it into the sink, he felt absolutely retarded and wished for a moment he wouldn't have said anything at all. That changed pretty quickly when he realized the world didn't end. He was still standing here, albeit defeated, but by god he was still there. Even stranger, the other two weren't pointing and making fun of him for being the biggest faggot to walk the earth. They just looked dumbfounded. Yet, oddly pleased. Mickey didn't know his eyes and shoulders, both slumped towards the ground, were saying more than his mouth ever could.

 

"Anyway, we gotta get him outta there. Gallagher may be tough but he wasn't made for jail." He finally sat down in the chair by the table, elbows resting on his knees while his fingers scratched at the marks on his neck. The biggest red flag should have been that he never wondered why Ian was worth all of this. It just was what it was. There was a strong, primal urge to fix things.

   
"What, are we afraid he might find a different more charming felon to stick his dick in?" Lip may have succumbed to Mickey's admission but he still wasn't going to make this easy. Mandy just looked confused.

 

 "Hilarious," Mickey rolled his eyes, staring down at the floor. Smoke billowed out through his nostrils from his cigarette, calming his nerves and stopping any urge he had to try and shut Lip up with violence again. He'd never felt more ashamed and relieved at the same time. He even swore those few words cured a little bit of the nonstop stress headache he'd had since hearing news of Ian's return. "We should really sta-"

 

"Wait," Mandy interrupted, a stupid grin spread across her face. "Why did you say it like that? Why would Ian.. Are-.. Are you the bottom?" She gasped, holding back a giggle. This could _not_ really be happening right now. Her brother shook his head disappointingly at Lip, not even able to begin to show how annoyed he was. "Why?" She asked quietly, clearly amused. Her hand came up to scratch at her bare stomach from her tank top riding up. All he could think about was how he wished she would show a little self respect and wear more than a top and panties around the house. Nobody wanted to see that shit. "Mickey?" His sister pressed, not willing to let it drop. He'd never looked as vulnerable as he did then and it fascinated her.

"What, are you stupid?" Mickey looked up at her again and sighed shakily, only speaking to stop the awkward silence tightening around his neck. "Cause it feels good.." What the fuck was even going on right now. How did he end up in this stupid, dingy kitchen filled with bad memories and things so much more fucked up that they'd been repressed before they could even be remembered.

"I don't know, I tried it once and I hated it.. Maybe I should give it another chance?" She glanced at Lip, licking at the corner of her mouth suggestively.

"Why the fuck," her brother stood back up, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes sewn shut. "Why the _fuck_ would you think I wanted to hear that." She shrugged her shoulders and laughed, thankful that at least in her eyes the tension was momentarily gone from this mess. Lip was even smiling a little, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter.

 

"Alright, if we're going to do this, we need a plan." And finally, even though Mickey's pride was damaged, his face bruised and his heart heavy, everyone was on the same board. They sat at the table, passing around the bottle of liquor Svetlana had offered them silently before grabbing an orange and returning to the living room. After an hour of arguing, demeaning comments between the two boys and a lot of Mandy cursing about their pissing contest - they still weren't agreed. Technically, they were more at war than ever, Mickey adamant as he threw another beer can across the room, frustrated.

 

"I can't rob my own fucking supplier. Do I look like I have a fuckin' deathwish?"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't resist adding the bottom part in, definitely inspired by themintsauce's recent fic. the next chapter should have more ian in it, i just don't feel like i'm as good with his POV.


	4. lockdown

       Gallagher sighed up at the ceiling, dropping the terrible crime thriller he'd been trying, honestly _trying_ , to read. He gave up upon realizing absolutely nothing was going to take his mind off the confusing, yet begrudgingly fascinating disaster that was Mickey Milkovich. Even the psychopath in the book had reminded him of Mick. Which made him smirk, amused, much to his own chagrin. Flashes of Mickey's eyes and lips beamed across his mind, focusing specifically on moments from before. When they had both been genuinely happy. For about two fucking seconds.

 

The whole jail was on lockdown after some retard thought it'd be a good idea to try and sneak in an entire prescription of oxycotton shoved up his ass. It'd worked too, until the guards became suspicious when the guy kept nodding out, looking like a narcoleptic. Now they were tearing apart each and every cell, making sure the idiots supply didn't reach anyone but himself. So that meant no tv time, no gym, nothing to distract himself with. Just words and images, replaying over and over in his head. The visit had been two days ago, but that wasn't enough time to forget every single moment. Just like months weren't long enough to forget their first kiss or the way Mickey would stare at him when he thought no one else was paying attention.

 

_"Since we all know actions don't mean shit to you anyway."_

_  
_What a fucking asshole. Ian knew Milkovich well enough to know it had been a sort of twisted half-assed attempt at making the redhead understand. The only way he could ever say that he was sorry without having to say the words at all. But Ian _didn't_ understand. Because actions really didn't mean anything. Between his parents coming in and out of his life, he'd had enough of actions. He needed something more real. Life was a bitch, making him fall for the one person that couldn't do that. Wouldn't do that. He wondered momentarily if this had anything to do with Monica, the way him and Lip seemed to constantly search out people to seek affirmations from. People that they knew would just shut them down, again and again. Karen and Mickey, it was all really the same thing. Maybe, secretly, they just liked the pain. Had grown all too accustomed to it. Masochistic fucks.

 

He was then drawn to being curious again about what Mickey had meant when he said he had a few things lined up, the unsure look from Mandy as he spoke. As much as he was hurt, broken and drained, he still didn't want anything bad to happen to his ex. Yes, ex _boyfriend_. Because Mickey could deny it til the day they died, that's exactly what he was. It went too far past casual when Mickey had thrown away his freedom, had shown his jealousy, had even kissed him for fucks sake. That soft side, that's what Ian craved. Though he knew it wouldn't be nearly as meaningful without all the bullshit inbetween. That was besides the point. He didn't need their help to get out of this, didn't want or ask for it. But that _bastard_.. That slight glimmer of hope had been in Mickey's eyes this time, not his own. It made him sick. Literally. He had thrown up two times when he came back from the visiting room, his body deceiving his mind when he kept telling himself nothing had changed, everything was exactly the same and hope was for idiots with too much time and effort on their hands. Effort Ian wasn't really sure he could muster anymore.

 

"Ayo, Red," Ian wondered why his parents even bothered giving him a first name. "Looks like we'll be shut in here for a minute. You wanna play rummy?" His cellmate, Edgar, had hopped up from the bottom bunk, holding a deck of cards in his hand as he rested his elbows on the edge of Ian's bed. Gallagher nodded, thankful.

 

They sat on the cold cement floor, Ian dragging his scratchy blanket down from his bed to cover himself in. They chit chatted about random things, though the conversation was pretty one sided. Edgar going on and on about some guy he was going to kill as soon as he got out, the guy that ratted on him. He was very animated with his stories, arms flailing left and right. It reminded Ian of Carl and the way his eyes would light up when he told him about the latest thing the boy had made explode. Or set on fire. 

 

"Nah gringo, you can't do that, c'mon Gallagher," Edgar rolled his eyes, tapping at the jack of hearts. "I already used the joker for that, cards fuckin' useless." Ian looked down, confused for a moment before it registered. He threw the card down in the discard pile instead, sighing for the hundredth time today.

 

"You know, it's not good for people.." His cellmate started, eyes zoned in on his hand that only had two cards left in it, much to Ian's annoyance. He had always been overly competitive. Mickey had liked that about him. He had assumed he liked it anyway, the way the other would egg him on during Halo matches. It's not like Mikey would ever actually admit to liking anything about another person.

 

"What's that?"

 

"Living in your head more than in reality." Ian would have become defensive and told the kid he had no idea what he was talking about, but the look Edgar had given him proved it wouldn't have mattered anyway. "You know, last time I was in here I was bunked up with Milkovich." His ears pricked up. Once again he was upset at the fact that his body just would not be compliant with his thoughts. Then again, even his thoughts weren't compliant with his thoughts.. If that made any sense.

 

"Kept to himself for the most part, kinda like you. One of the fews times I got him to talk, kept going on about how he had to get out to fix something with someone." Gallagher wondered where this was going, but he couldn't say he wasn't interested. A moment of realization poured over him. Mickey had gotten out for _him_ , not because of overcrowding. What a lying piece of shit. But what a _sweet_ , lying piece of shit. It almost made that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest explode. Something he hadn't felt since the day Terry had caught them. He had woken up with Mickey's arm slung haphazardly over his chest, a wet spot on the pillow beneath his mouth from drool that was dangerously close to his shoulder. Didn't even care.

 

"You know how I know it was you?" Edgar had glanced up after laying down his last card, winning the game, though that suddenly seemed not to matter. Ian could feel his skin flush, not sure if this was going to turn into a bad situation, quickly. "He kept saying Ian when he was sleeping one night, over and over again. Like some retarded song skipping. I didn't bring it up with him, I ain't crazy man, but I can't say it wasn't the strangest fuckin' thing.." The redhead was confused when the only emotion he seemed to have was jealousy. How stupid. Being jealous over the fact that someone else had heard the love of your life say your name, your _real_ name, more than he ever would.

 

"It all clicked when you acted so weird about him comin' to see you. Guess he never really fixed things, eh?" Silence. Even if Ian could find words, he sure as shit couldn't articulate them right now. "You can talk to me, dude. I ain't saying I'm Dr. Phil or some shit, but I'm not like some of these jerkoffs in here. You can trust me. Besides, all that repression and you're bound to fuckin' explode, kill us all." The smile he offered eased Ian's nerves and he bowed his head, nodding slightly. Not that he had any reason to believe what his cellmate was saying about trust. It would be nice to talk.

 

Just as he went to try and speak, the cell's door loudly unlocked against its mechanics, echoing against the walls.

 

"Gallagher, pack it up!" A guard yelled from the hall below them as they both scrambled up to glance out, holding a clipboard in his hands. The redhead was confused, they only ever said that if someone was getting out or if they had been reclassified as a higher risk. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to deserve the latter. Hope mixed with dread in his chest, threatening to eat him alive. Hopeful because come on, who wanted to live in a cage. Dreadful because he wasn't sure if the outside waiting for him would be worse. Edgar just shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe next time?" He laughed and socked Ian on the shoulder, "Just remember what I said. You may be getting outta jail but that head is your real cell. I don't need to be no fuckin' therapist to put that together." Ian just stared at him blankly, wondering how someone with little to no knowledge of his life had so quickly figured him out. "..So get the fuck outta here, guy. Before they find somethin' else to keep ya for." He helped the redhead collect his things, rolling them all up in the stained yellow bedsheets they had given him. 

 

"C'mon Gallagher, hurry it up!" The guard bellowed from below. "I've got a family to go home to and so do you."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm super excited to write them interacting alone for the first time. this was really just filler to keep the story moving. thanks for all the awesome feedback, guys! really helps me out :)


	5. i can't let go (it's never been easy for me)

         The worst thing on the planet, other than burning alive (Mickey imagined, anyway) had to be tweakers. At least heroin addicts had the decency to stay inside, passed out on a couch. Meth heads?  They always had to be _doing_ something. Even if they were just simply trying to cross the street, they ended up making a fucking career out of the thing. Milkovich watched in amusement as the obvious junkie in front of him spent about twenty minutes searching through each and every pocket, every nook and cranny of his shoe for something that seemed pretty important. Probably lost his next high. Pity. Did he even know he was in the parking lot of the county jail? Did he even care? It brought back memories of Mickey's mother and his stomach turned at the thought.

 

Fuck, he was high. Stoned off his ass. Stupid. Couldn't even tell how long he'd been sitting alone in his brother's car in the parking lot. The last thing he remembered was waving the bondsman off after signing some serious paperwork that involved a lot of liabilities and bullshit. Not the usual one they used but fuck if this was ever going to wind up getting back to his dad. Had planned on saving the joint for Ian but his nerves had gotten the best of him. Told himself he was still just shook up from the other night but that wasn't true and he wasn't sure which story made him more of a pussy - the real one or the lie. Either way, one of them made him feel like shit.

 

Mickey thought he could just make a few big deals and have the bond money situated, until Lip fucking Gallagher entered the situation. He had the worst way of making the most idiotic plan sound brilliant. Told them that if they did it this way, they'd have extra cash to bribe the lawyer into never mentioning this to another Milkovich. And then some. Mandy was eating out of his palm. Mickey was not as impressed.

 

He'd managed to get into his suppliers unnoticed and especially un-shot, thanks to Svetlana acting like she was lost at his front door and distracting him with her tits. Again, she wasn't so bad. There was an unspoken understanding between them. Unspoken because she knew exactly what she had walked in on, the day they met. She was just as terrified of Terry as anyone breathing would be. There's no way they could have pulled it off without her, if Mandy had tried then he would have been able to put two and two together without much thought. Of course, leave it to Lip to act like him and his genius savant brain had planned the entire thing and made sure it went off without a hitch. Whatever. He could think whatever he wanted as long as it worked. Truthfully, Mickey had grown tired of coming up with reasons to hate Ian's brother. If the situations were reversed and someone was dicking around his sister for two years, he'd have been a much bigger nuisance than Lip ever was. Was Mickey really just putting himself in someone elses shoes? Yeah, he was definitely way too fucking high.

 

The urge to slam on the gas of the car and get the hell out of here had passed twice already. Each time, Mickey had gripped the steering wheel carelessly tight with one hand and reached for the key in the ignition with the other. Each time he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to sink back into his brain and turn his mind off. Fuck. What was he doing here? Wasn't the definition of insanity to do things over and over again, expecting different results? He was sure he'd heard that somewhere once. Then again, his sanity had always been in question, at least just a little bit.

 

What should have happened, what Mickey had told himself would happen, was he should have stayed away from Ian the first time he got out of juvie. But, he could chalk that one up to stupidity and let it slide. What _definitely_ should have happened, because he was in fact _not_ fucking stupid, was he should have stayed away from him the second time he got out. But did he? Fuck no, searched him out within an hour of his release. Told himself he just needed to see him one more time. To tell him to fuck off for good. Should have known right then from the look in Ian's eyes to _walk the fuck away_. The connection between what Mickey always tried to get himself to do and what he actually did were so far apart they might as well be different solar systems. Sometimes it worked out to his advantage. Most of the time, not so much.

 

But if he could go back and do it all over again, would he do anything different? Probably not. An almost sobering thought.

 

If this were all one sided, would it be that much more tragic or simply that much easier to handle? Because if Gallagher just wouldn't look at him like that. Wouldn't fight so hard and tell him things that made his cheeks burn (internally, of course, Milkovichs don't blush). Wouldn't take the time out of his day to ask Mickey how his had been, even when half the time he just grunted or shrugged, then this would definitely, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt be easier. Maybe he didn't want easy.

 

He knew he should have, though. And Ian actually had the nerve to act like he was special. Like he had won a prize, just having Mickey close to him. That probably concerned him the most. Who would think they were special for having someone from his family? It sounded more like a declaration of mental retardation. Hi, my name is Ian Gallagher and I'm a fucking moron. I can't wait to get my heart smashed into a million pieces. I'm going to ignore every warning they've ever given me (warnings that were, to be clear, for my own fucking good) and instead I'm going to jump headfirst into a situation that could bring nothing but heartache and hey, who knows, maybe even a couple dead bodies further down the path.

 

This was not a good idea. He wondered if in a day from now, a month from now, a year from now, he'd be telling himself once again, _should've just walked away_. But if he couldn't do it then, he certainly couldn't do it now. Feelings were a weird fucking thing, man. They seemed to come out of nowhere like some rabid bacteria, growing underneath your skin so quickly that you almost don't even notice until your neck deep in shit with no knowledge or experience on how to cope. So you fly by the ass of your seat and hope you don't destroy two people in the process. And when you fail, you tell yourself there's no fucking way this could be love. Why would people be clamoring to realize precisely every reason they hate themselves? What could possibly make up for that?

 

Something flashed in his peripheral, a tall red head wearing a white t-shirt and camo pants. He wished he had a beer to drown the butterflies in his stomach with. _This_ , this is what made up for it.

 

"Hey," he shouted, waving Ian over after he realized the boy seemed confused. The look of recognition he gave him, Mickey wasn't quite sure if that was surprise or anger. Didn't matter, he still felt uncomfortable under those eyes. They were not what he remembered. Why didn't he notice that at the visit? Maybe he had just assumed it was an act. But under natural daylight, there was no denying it. Ian looked pissed.

 

"I was expecting Fiona or Lip to be here." The redhead said dully as he climbed in, slamming the door shut beside him.

 

"Fiona don't know you're out, Lip's planning a surprise party tonight for your release." Mickey immediately lit another cigarette. His lungs ached. Was probably the tenth one he'd smoked since he got here. His stomach was doing things that should be illegal. He tried to shrug it off.

 

"...Thanks," Ian said sarcastically after a long pause, like Mickey had ruined the surprise part of surprise party.

 

"It's not for you dumbass, you already _know_ you're out," he snorted. Name calling. This was going to be pleasant. "I'm s'posed to keep you busy until later," Mickey added, offering Ian a smoke out of his pack. Ian took one and grunted while lighting it, not sounding pleased. Sounding more like a little bitch if Mickey were honest.

 

The silence they sat in threatened to swallow them whole. Ian kept looking over at him with this stupid fucking face, not making eye contact. His eyebrows were scrunched up and he was puffing on the cigarette like it were a life line. Like it would stop him from feeling whatever it was he was feeling. Mickey couldn't judge, he was doing the same thing. He kept waiting for Ian to speak up, that was what was comfortable. Ian talking and Mickey trying to act like he wasn't listening.

 

"What, you waitin' for an apology or somethin'?" He finally grunted out, ashing the cigarette out the window. Ian's eyes darted at him, something that probably would have looked menacing if it wasn't, you know, Ian Gallagher. "Yeah, well, I'm still waitin' for a fuckin' thank you."

 

"I didn't ask for your help," the redhead finally spoke up, his voice hoarse and rugged, almost as if he hadn't done much speaking at all lately. But that seemed too out of character to believe.

 

"No one said ya did."

 

"So why would I thank you?"

 

"Look, man, no one told you to get.. attached.." Another drag, the filter beginning to burn between his tattooed fingers. "In fact, I made it pretty clear that you shouldn't." He threw the cigarette out the window and stared out the windshield, cracking his knuckles.

 

"I never said anyone did Mi-," Ian began, but Mickey cut him off before he could go off on a tangent. Could tell by the tone of his voice he was about to start sputtering nonsense.

 

"Then why do I owe you a fuckin' apology?"

 

That's it, this conversation was making his head hurt. If someone had told him three years ago that he'd be sitting here, he would have told them to fuck off. The absurdity of it all made him laugh. No, the weed made him laugh but as he did, the absurdity and tension began to roll off his shoulders. Ian was looking at him like he was batshit crazy. (As discussed earlier, he probably was). But even the redhead couldn't help but crack the tiniest, miniscule smile at the sound of hearty laughter. And Ian was nothing like Mickey - once he started to smile he couldn't cut it short into a smirk. So there they sat, smiling and laughing while the cracks of their world just continued to stretch.

 

"Jesus Mick, how high are you?" Ian's head tilted to the side, that smile still stuck to his lips as he stared into the dark haired boy's glossy red eyes. All he was given in return was a joint out of the center console. "Shut up and get on my level, man," Mickey didn't smile back. But he wanted to. Ian threw the cigarette out and lit the joint, signaling that it was definitely time to leave this parking lot before they both were thrown back in.

 

"I can't do this right now," he started, finishing his sentence before the look of disappointment spread more-so on the others face, turning the key and revving the engine a little bit. "I mean, I gotta get some food man, I'm fuckin' starving." Ian nodded. He was too easy. Too soft. He gave in too quickly. Everything about him was just too.. Too much. He wondered when their problems had gotten so torturous that they didn't even immediately try to fuck each other. No, they were going to have to actually talk this time. Mickey was only upset because he felt like his body could show more than stupid sentences ever could. But according to the boy next to him, that was another lie. At least lies were comfortable.

 

 

* * *

 

 

        Milkovich was relishing this as they sat parked outside some shitty taco stand. He wasn't acting like everything was fine, he knew Ian was placating him before shit was bound to hit the fan. Before Ian had to ruin everything with needs and wants. Probably didn't even realize that Mickey had everything he could need or want sitting a mere few inches beside him. They were both great pretenders, no one could argue that. 

 

The weed had eased his nausea enough to scarf down a burrito. Uncertainty still clung to the air. It didn't feel good, but it sure felt like he was alive for the first time in months. Something about the electricity between them was bound to explode eventually. There was no one around, just the two of them sitting in that dirty car. Something clicked, one of those needs/wants he was just talking shit about. Before he could talk himself out of it, Mickey reached tentatively for Ian's fingers - using more force when the redhead tried to pull away. Slowly, probably the only delicate thing he'd ever done in his life, he laced their fingers together and Ian relented. Even squeezed his palm a little bit. The older boy wasn't going to look at him though. Wouldn't grant him the satisfaction. His eyes were glued to their hands. Sure, they didn't fit perfectly. That shit was for fairy tales and clueless fanatics. But love isn't perfect. It's about bending and twisting to fit, to find a place that feels like home. The more standing between you, the more you want it. He was sure of that. Not that this was love. Infatuation, at best. And the hand holding was just a peace offering. It didn't mean a damn thing.

 

"So. You fuck anyone in there?" He questioned with a cocked brow. Ian just rolled his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. Mickey sure knew how to ruin a moment.

 

"Not that it's any of your business, Mickey.. I didn't. Just like you never did either."

 

"Bitch, don't act like you finish my sentences. You don't know me." _God, Milkovich, shut the fuck up_. The knuckle of his free thumb patted down against the steering wheel, fueled by nothing but anxiety. It wasn't true anyway, what he had said. Ian knew Mickey better than anyone else. He just didn't understand anything he knew. Would he ever? "But, you probably already got your fill in the army then, right?" Where was this jealousy even coming from. Negative emotions were just so much easier. So much less baggage. Ian pulled his hand away immediately, clearly annoyed. For a slight, tiny, absurd second, Mickey almost reached for it again. Until he realized that was stupid.

 

"Shouldn't you be at home taking care of your pregnant wife?" Ian crossed his arms across his chest, squashing the whole hands holding thing for good.

 

"Pregnant?" He scoffed, casting a glance in Ian's direction. His tongue ran over the scar on the inside of his lip, from biting down far too often on it. The pain was a nice distraction. Grounding.

 

"That's what Mandy said.." Ian suddenly sounded unsure, probably realizing Mandy was not the best source for information. "Before, I mean. She said that's why you were marrying her."

 

"Mandy knows fuck all. Dad probly just said that to get her to stop asking stupid fucking questions."

 

"Oh.." The redhead was staring down at his arms, looking dejected and sad and any adjective that you could place over those two. It wasn't an attractive look for him. "You're not very good at this," he finished, brown eyes staring at Mickey's neck, apparently unable to look up any further.

 

"At what?" Because really, it could've been a million things. He wasn't good at life. Wasn't good at making first impressions, or in this case, third impressions. Definitely wasn't good at expressing himself.

 

"Reconciling. Isn't that why you're here? To try and talk me into continuing this.. Whatever this is? Cause if not just tell me, tell me why the fuck you're still in my life."

 

Mickey would take bullets any day over the way Ian's words ripped through his chest. But he didn't say anything, didn't do anything. Just put the car in drive and pulled out of the empty lot.

 

"Seriously?" Ian yelled out the question in desperation after another drawn out silence. If Mickey didn't know any better Ian was about to have a mental breakdown, or he already was, the way his fists were punching against the dashboard of his Iggy's car, tears streaming down his cheeks. _Shit_. Tears. He would have felt guilty, given the chance. In the meantime the fists were now being directed towards him, one landing square against his cheek. And fuck, could the redhead throw a punch.  Mickey slammed on the breaks with a screech of the wheels and pulled over, causing Ian's head to fling forward and bounce off the dashboard.

 

"Fuck, Gallagher! What the _fuck_!" The urge to reach up and grab his own cheek was overpowered. Instead, he cupped the side of Ian's face, trying to pull him forward to examine the damage. "You okay?" It was amazing even to himself how his words could go from pure anger to concern in two seconds flat.

 

"No!" Ian screamed, reaching for the door handle. Panic washed over Milkovich. He didn't want to leave it like this, not _again_. Yet his words were still caught on the edge of his tongue and the fear of rejection was something so new and debilitating it knocked him back in his seat. But his heart, the faulty fucking thing, was stronger this time. The way Ian flinched when Mickey grabbed the collar of his shirt and stopped him from getting out pissed him off. Like he was going to hit him or something.

 

The rush from pressing his lips against the redheads wasn't anything he could describe. He just knew it felt right. It was almost as if the older boy thought one little kiss could save the world. The fingers clutched into Ian's forearm were nothing short of a death grip, so when he felt two hands pushing his chest away they both lurched to the left, gasping for air. Gallagher had kissed him back for longer than either of them wanted to admit, but the bipolar fuck wasn't having any of Mickey's bullshit.

 

"Stop!" Why was he yelling so loud? "You can't do this to me anymore. I _won't_ do this. Fuck you,"  Gallagher grabbed the hand on his arm and yanked it away, throwing it back into Mickey's lap as he deflated. "You're never going to change." Anger was so much easier than pain.

 

"No, fuck _you_. Fuck you for being so goddamn blind. Fuck you for existing."  Milkovich spat, swallowing down the stress tears mounting in his throat. This was it. This was the moment those two voices in his head, complete contradictions, started yelling at him. One told him to run far away, as fast as he possible could. The other was shouting to do something, say something, before Ian left again and they were more broken than ever. Unfixable. His voice grew quieter, not angry, almost feeble. "I wouldn't change a single thing about you. But that's all you fuckin' want from me. Change." His tongue was stinging. He had bitten down on it again to quiet himself. Nothing was quite as weak as word vomit.

 

"You're _nothing_ ,"  Ian's voice couldn't hide the sadness lying underneath it, "but what you think other people want you to be. A husband. A killer. Cold hearted. _Straight_.  I just want you. Without all the fucking pretenses and lies. I don't want to love a lie, I can't _live_ a lie." Gallagher's hand had reached out for Mickey's knee, but the affection was wasted as he pulled his leg away.

 

"Just get the fuck out." Change wasn't in his vocabulary. How could you care about someone so much and hate them so badly at the same exact time? It made his whole body ache. "You're stupider than I thought if you don't see how much you mean to me." He didn't even notice Ian was gone before he could finish his sentence, until the door shut. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and then pressed his palms against his eyes, hard enough to black out his vision when his eyelids fluttered back open for a few seconds. Not long enough to miss the vision of Ian running down the street. It made sense really, Mickey would probably run away from a monster if he ever encountered one as well.

 

A frustrated sigh cut through the air, followed by a grunt that was so fucking pathetic and lost it made himself cringe. Tried to tell himself it was for the best, he had acted the only way his entire life had told him to. Ian was the one who had changed and it was not in a good way. Sadly, Mickey's heart had been beat within an inch of it's life, from what could only be described as his own doing, so much so that even he didn't believe his lies anymore. This was all too familiar. And that was really fucking depressing.

 

Mandy was going to kill him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for the feedback! i'm interested to know if this chapter stayed true to them. but i don't want it to stay too true, mickey needs to open up eventually. i'm just not convinced it would happen as quickly as everyone seems to want.


	6. welcome home

          There was a weird kind of comfort in your life being utter shit. A comfort that could only come from being so used to downfalls and burdens that anything better felt like a waste of time. Mickey enjoyed conflict and violence and fistfights, thrived upon it. So why was this any different? Why couldn't he just beat the pain away? It wasn't for lack of trying - his bruised knuckles and his brother's black eye stood testament to that.  
  
It had been two months since the last time he saw Ian Gallagher. Two months and three days. Not that anyone was stupid enough to keep track of something like that. Mickey definitely wasn't.  He also wasn't being eaten from the inside out by cancerous thoughts and urges. And just for good measure, he absolutely hadn't opened his phone up to text Ian something for the tenth time today, only to grow frustrated and throw it back down on his bed. Because that's something other people do, and Mickey Milkovich was not like other people.  
  
He had kept his word and gotten Ian a lawyer who was successful at pushing a court date out as far as possible. The lawyer assured Mickey that the charges would be dropped to something lesser and Gallagher wouldn't end up doing anymore jailtime (why he thought he cared, who knew). Lip had ended up not going to MIT afterall, at least that's what his sister had told him (why she thought he cared, who knew). Mickey felt some sort of satisfaction from knowing all the Gallagher's were back under the same roofing, surely causing hell in one way or another. Why he cared? He had no fucking clue.  
  
Mickey could barely look himself in the mirror anymore. Because everytime he did, he wasn't sure what was staring back at him. Whatever this is, whatever he had become - all he knew for sure was that Ian hated it. He just kept running away without giving distance or endurance a second thought.  
  
And his home life? Mickey had always been the alpha male, second in command only to his dad regardless of the fact his brother's were older. Always the one calling the shots when Terry wasn't around. Now, it's like he wasn't even a blip on his radar. Don't get him wrong, he preferred it that way, it just didn't sit right. Sometimes he worried he was becoming his father. Turning cold, heartless. It could have been worse, sure. Mickey had met his grandfather once when he was seven, dad had brought him along to visit him in prison. Even for a child, Milkovich deduced in under five minutes that his grandpa was a terrible, mean person. He remembers even wondering how his dad had turned out so normal. If Terry was simply evil, his grandfather was a fucking sociopath. So, could he really blame his dad? Yes, yes he could. Because Ian easily blamed Mickey. There were enough accusations to feed a third world country, really.  
  
'Blood' by In This Moment came on the radio Mickey had been using to shut his mind up (because it was working _so well_ ) and he didn't hesitate to rip the cord from the wall. Ian had ruined fucking everything. From the places he used to hang out at to his favorite songs. He couldn't go anywhere or do anything without thinking about the redhead. That's probably one of the pitfalls of letting someone get too close to you. Mickey made a note in his head to never, ever, let anyone get near him again. Not in that way. It was just upsetting because he thought he was stronger than this. All he knew for sure was that he didn't know shit.  
  
Mandy came in, running and jumping onto his bed, a lit joint in her fingers that she handed over willingly. "Anyone ever tell you about this crazy thing called knocking on the fucking door before you come in?" He inhaled deep, trapping the smoke in his lungs.  
  
"No, tell me more," Mandy replied sarcastically, her hand coming up to Mickey's cheek to wipe something away. It felt wet. He yanked away from the touch, wondering when he had grown so detached from himself that he didn't even notice when he was crying. The way she stared at him was belittling but she probably didn't notice. Mandy Milkovich, the queen of being fucking oblivious.  
  
"What the fuck you want?" He passed the joint back and stood up, putting some much needed space between the two siblings before he cracked and ended up spilling his rotten insides all over his bed. It was growing harder and harder to repress everything. He did it with his chin held high. (For now).  
  
"Gonna go down to the store, wanna come? Lana gave me a list." She held out the list covered in his wife's handwriting and he waved his hand in dismissal.  
  
"No."  
  
"I'll meet you out front in five," his sister nodded before stuffing the list in her pocket, taking another drag off of the joint as she sauntered back out of his room. He knew this was her way of saying he needed to get out of the damn house before he became a vampire and turned into a puff of dust in the daylight.  
  
It didn't make her any less of a fucking bitch.

 

* * *

  
  
  
        Sure, it felt nice to have sun on his skin for the first time in five days, even if it was beginning to get chilly out. Mandy had no qualms about the weather, skirt hiked up to her crotch and legs only covered by a thin layer of nylon. He hated the way people looked at her as they walked down the street. The way guys would almost run into stoplights to turn their heads and stare. His baby sister _was_ a slut, sure, but he didn't want the reminders constantly.  
  
She had hooked her arm to his, despite his attempts to push her away. Mandy was like a leech and it was better to just let her fill herself on the blood and fall off than risk her exploding while trying to force her away. Karen Jackson had learned that the hard way. The thought made Mickey smirk, a sense of pride in his sister causing him to pull her closer, reaching over to tickle her side. She squealed and laughed, fingers reaching to tussle up Mickey's hair. A grin was on his mouth until she bent down to try and escape his grasp and he realized who was standing directly behind her.  
  
Ian was next to someone Mickey didn't recognize, looking bewildered and stupid. Like it was such a coincidence they'd both be on the same street in their shitty little neighborhood at the same time. It was bound to happen. It took Mandy a moment to notice they were done rough housing and she turned quickly to whatever Mickey was staring at, her face going a little pale when she saw.  
  
"Oh. Hey, Ian. Hey, Daniel.." She sounded much less enthusiastic about the Daniel part. It was then he saw that this Daniel guy, the stupid fuckhead in front of him with bushy brown hair and untrusting eyes, had one finger hooked in Ian's beltloop. He looked over at Mandy, betrayal written all over his face. She seriously knew Ian was with someone? And didn't even _tell_ him? And who the fuck did they think they were, walking down the street touching one another? Did they forget they were in the Southside of Chicago? Ian's hand grabbed at Daniel's and dropped it down, uneasiness sprawling across his taut face.  
  
"Hey Mandy.. Mickey.." He nodded in both their directions and just as Mickey was sure he was going to start walking away, he toyed at the corner of his mouth with his tongue, sneering.  
  
"What, no introduction?" He stepped closer to Daniel intimidatingly, his shoulders broadening as he lifted his brow in feigned curiosity.  
  
"This is Mickey.." Ian's hands came up to point at him. "Mickey, this is Daniel.." His words were cautious and slow, almost as if he was pleading at him to not do anything stupid.  
  
"His boyfriend," Daniel grinned, shoving his hand out as if he thought Mickey would shake it. He just snorted.  
  
"Not from around here, huh?" Sarcasm riddled Mickey's voice. The redhead swallowed loudly, shifting his weight from one foot to another.  
  
"We were just on our way to the store, Fiona's making spaghetti and ran out of mushrooms.." Mandy had nodded when Mickey gave no response. So what, was Daniel like, apart of the fucking family now? Eating dinner with the Gallagher's and running errands to the store for them? Lip must be so pleased. 

 

"Oh, that's nice," a fake smile curled the older Milkovich's lips. "I was just running to the grocery store for my wife so she can make dinner. Gotta keep the old lady happy, right man?" Ian's face fell a little. He fucking deserved it.

 

"Nice meeting you," Daniel's smile was genuine as they continued on their way. Mickey took the opportunity to shoulder Ian's "boyfriend" when he walked by. He hadn't even used that much force but Daniel barely managed to stay standing. What a pussy. He didn't offer an apology and Gallagher was halfway down the block by now but for some retarded reason he couldn't take his eyes off of them, a deep and barely audible groan escaping his lips when he finally willed himself to stop the torture.

  
"Mickey, I'm sorry," Mandy, with her sad puppy dog eyes, stood in front of him. In true Milkovich fashion she had no idea how to try and comfort him. Luckily for her, he didn't need any fucking comfort and he sure as hell didn't want it from his lying twat of a sister.

  
"Fuck off, bitch." She didn't follow him as he walked back towards their house. His muscles were tense and aching. He should have just decked that stupid fuck in the face. Who was Ian trying to kid? The guy looked like something straight out of a Sears catalog. He didn't know what stopped him from pummeling the fuck as they walked away. It might have had something to do with the way Ian had looked at him. It wasn't filled with hatred. Sadness, maybe, but he'd never been very good at placing emotions to facial expressions. So instead, he just spit on the sidewalk and turned around, lighting up a smoke. Fuck Svetlana and her list. He wouldn't be eating dinner tonight anyway.

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
         "He seemed pleasant.." Daniel giggled, seriously fucking _giggled_ , a dopey grin still on his mouth. Ian wondered if this was how Mickey felt each time the redhead smiled at him. But no, he doubted Mickey ever actually wanted to stab him with something sharp and rusted. Hopefully.  
  
"You can't introduce yourself as my boyfriend. What the fuck is wrong with you?" The redhead kept having to walk diagonal, the only way to keep the boy from getting closer. "You're lucky one of them didn't pull a gun on you."  
  
"Oh, come on, I think you take some of that stuff way too seriously," Daniel nodded as they walked into the grocery store. "They wouldn't really though, would they?" He questioned, voice less confident than before.  
  
"The Mickey I used to know would have." But new Mickey hadn't, and that was a little disappointing in a really sick and twisted kind of way. Maybe he was moving on. It shouldn't have made Ian feel the way it did. Especially since that's exactly what _he_ was doing, moving on. That's why Daniel was here with him in the vegetable section of the grocery store. This is what was normal. This is what should feel right, not discreet fucks in alleys and stolen glances from across a room.  
  
So why didn't it?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! after some contemplation, i feel like jealousy is one of the only emotions that could cause mickey to break. so, this is heading in a slightly different direction than i first planned but i think that hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway :)


	7. neverender

         Nothing made sense anymore. Although that was kind of the biggest understatement Mandy Milkovich had ever heard because, well, nothing had ever _really_ made sense to begin with. But that was technically okay, had accepted it a long time ago. She was destined to clean up after slobs and nurse wounds. The occasional threat with a weapon to keep up their image. It was so engrained in her being that it didn't even phase her to be in constant survival mode anymore. Everything else was just a false comfort. It felt dirty and made her itch under her skin.  
  
Mandy liked to think she was prepared for anything. In a way, she was. If there were tally marks racking up all the times she'd had to defuse madness, they would cover the walls. But this was different in a way that made her insides ache - familiar but repressed emptiness clawing at the lining of her stomach. Their living room wasn't trashed because one of her brothers had stolen from the wrong person. The curtains weren't ripped off the windows and thrown on the floor from a disagreement on who drank the last beer. Posters weren't torn to shreds from Mickey's walls because someone owed him money and he was pissed.  
  
As she assessed the damage, she couldn't help but admit she had no fucking clue how to handle this.  
  
Finally snapping herself back to the present moment, she noticed her brother's wife sitting on the couch. She was wrapping a bandage around her hand. The phone she had used to call Mandy a few minutes before was still sitting in her lap, a red palm print staining the back of it. "Did he do that to you?" It was probably a stupid question. Even if Mickey had finally snapped, she seriously doubted he would take it out on the Russian.  
  
"No, silly girl," Svetlana mustered a laugh, shaking her head while she secured the clip to the bandage. "I try to pick up broken glass before Terry come home." And fuck, Mandy wished that sentence didn't send her into a frantic panic. Her dad would be home sooner than later, had only gone out to shoot some pool at the bar. He expected dinner to be on the table by the time he got back.  
  
"Where's Mickey?"

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
        The bathroom door was locked, much to her annoyance. She could hear the shower running but she knew that was just a ruse. Who the fuck did he think he was kidding? Yeah, I'm gonna tear the house to pieces (risking my own life in the process) and then I think I'll take a nice relaxing shower afterwards. _Right_.  
  
"Mickey!" Mandy pounded against the door with her palm until a splinter from the thin plywood dug into her skin but received no response. There wasn't time for this. She wanted to go back to Lip's house and pretend for two seconds her family wasn't a bunch of raging psychopaths (that _she_ wasn't a psychopath). That her brother wasn't a closeted fag fucking her best friend and that her dad wouldn't be home within an hour to murder them all when he walked in on this bullshit. But, as much as she hated her brother sometimes, she hated Terry more and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.  
  
When she grabbed the screwdriver off of the kitchen table and stomped back to the bathroom, she was praying for answers. Not from God or something ridiculous like that. Just something simple that would make her know what to say. They had never been good with words or sentiments. Another huge understatement, but whatever. She popped the tip of the tool into the lock, hitting the base hard enough to hitch the door open. A trick she had learned from her mother when her dad used to lock himself in there to get high without her.  
  
Mickey was sitting up against the bathtub. His knees were drawn up to his chest and there was a cigarette dangling from his lips - from what she could tell through the thick haze of smoke and steam, anyway. It made her eyes burn. (Or, the stinging tears she was biting back had). Mandy flung open the curtain of the shower to shut it off and then unhatched the window, grabbing a towel from the broken rack to wave it around, trying to make the air breathable.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She knew she was angry by the way she could feel her nostrils flaring. Sometimes it was such a default emotion, she had to look for physical signs to be sure. This was not the time for a mental breakdown. He needed to stand up and brush himself off and put on a hard face or they were both in a shitload of trouble. Reaching for her brother's hand, she moved to pull him up to his feet but her fingers fell short when she realized they were both covered in scrapes and gashes. Svetlana had already tried to clean him up - apparent from the fact there was no blood, just open wounds. Mickey wouldn't even look at her, just flicked the ashes from his cigarette onto the tile and turned his head away from her prying eyes.  
  
"Get _up_." When her best threatening tone still didn't elicit anything she grabbed a fist full of his hair, yanking his face back to lock eyes. "Dad'll be home soon. He's going to _kill_ you, Mickey!"  
  
"So let him fuckin' try." He didn't even reach to push her arm away, just sat there staring at her feet. The reaction (or lack thereof) was so god damn pathetic and out of character it made her want to scream. Only after she felt the sting reddening her palm and only before she could think it through, she realized she had smacked him across the face. If it were any other day, she would have run for her life right then. But Mickey just clenched his teeth together, grinding his molars so loudly she could hear it over the sound of her heart in her ears.

 

" _Who are you_?" Her words were so cold they sent a shiver up her spine. For the first time in her entire life, she fully acknowledged that she didn't have a fucking clue who this person was sitting in front of her. Thought she knew, sometimes. Didn't want to know, most of the time.  
  
Mickey looked so exposed and it just didn't make any sense. He was the strong one. The one who would tell her stupid stories so that she could fall asleep at night. The one who picked their mother off the floor after Terry had left her to die on more than one occasion. As much as she thought she didn't understand, it suddenly dawned on her. This was contrary from everything else. Because she had been there before. She had made the mistake of letting someone become your everything while never really taking into consideration that life was not a fucking fairy tale and people like them ended up dead and alone. Because Mandy Milkovich could not have nice things and that truth extended further down her family tree than she'd ever considered. It made her so fucking sad - that the only thing her and her brother had ever bonded over since childhood was pain.

 

  
He never said anything back, not that she imagined he would. So, whether it was from too much time spent at the Gallagher's or a foolish need to make things better, she filled the vacant space with words. It surprised her how much she truly meant them.  
  
"I didn't tell you about that guy because I didn't know how you'd react. It scares me sometimes, Mickey. Not knowing what you're gonna do." He was a lot like their father in that way. And despite popular belief, despite that Terry was a terrible father and a worse husband, there used to be the tiniest bit of light in his eyes when their mother was around. On good days, anyway. After the day she died, Mandy had never seen a glimpse of the sun shining in her dad's eyes again. She didn't want the same thing for her brother. She wouldn't wish that on anybody. Well, almost anybody.

 

  
"I know." Mickey sighed and threw the burnt up cigarette into the toilet, letting out a faint sizzle as it hit the water. "I'm not mad at you," he added halfheartedly, barely audible. The lack of animosity in his voice was enough for Mandy to let her guard down a little bit, crouching low to sit on her calves in front of him. She released the death grip she wasn't aware she still had on his hair, her fingers falling down to the crook of his neck.  
  
"Good, because you have no right to be mad at anyone but yourself, shithead." Mandy anticipated a 'fuck you' or 'shut up', something that would show her he wasn't really broken and everything would be okay. But he didn't speak for a while after that. And so, she continued to stare, hoping eventually he'd be willing to talk. Or get up. Or just do something instead of sitting here waiting to get the shit kicked out of him. It wasn't until a new cigarette was pressed to his lips that he finally opened his mouth, blowing out smoke but using the chance to let something else escape as well. A plea, almost.  
  
"What do I do, Mandy?" His free hand was anxiously picking at a tear in the bottom of his jeans but he finally had the courage to look at her, if only for a split second.  
  
"Well.." She grabbed the cigarette from his fingers, telling herself she was concerned for his health but really all the second-hand smoke was making her crave it. "We could run Daniel over with a car? Nah, that's too played out.. I know, kidnapping and torture? Something slow and stress relieving." The younger Milkovich moved to sit next to her brother, bumping shoulders with him playfully when she saw the slightest smirk on the corner of his mouth.

"I wouldn't waste the breath on that faggot," he sounded angry and she didn't fault him for that. Even if he could have stopped all of this. Ian's new boyfriend was fucking annoying and he deserved all the name calling they could come up with.  
  
"I've got an idea. Maybe you could just.. Tell Ian how you feel?" Her voice was light and airy and she slapped his leg, trying with every bone in her body to make this not so god damn depressing. Mickey took his smoke back from her, rolling it between his calloused fingertips, as if he were deep in thought or something. Wasn't sure she knew that was even possible for him. "You can't let Dad win," she whispered finally. No one even knew what game they were playing. All they knew was Terry constantly had the upper hand and that it was rigged from the get go. To her amazement, Mickey nodded at her words - his adams apple catching her attention as he swallowed thickly. "Don't fuck it up this time."  
  
"I won't," he looked over at her, furrowing his brow like it was mean of her to even suggest such a thing. Please. It was so strange, the way she swore she literally saw the mask slide back onto his face. "We've gotta get this shithole cleaned up." Now he was suggesting it, as if she hadn't been begging him to do that exact thing ten minutes ago. It was immediately comforting. The edge to his words smoothed over her skin easily.

 

"How about a 'please'? Jesus christ, you fucking people.."  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i love mandy so much and this is finally almost done :)


	8. subtraction

        Epiphanies were a lonely fucking experience. To add salt to the already open and raw wound, the two biggest ones Ian ever had were the exact same thing: They'll never change. Said in respect to both of his parents and more recently to the knuckle tattooed typhoon that had stormed through his life and left him for dead.  
  
How long was it okay to be brokenhearted before it was unhealthy? When Monica had left, Ian had picked himself off the floor, dusted off his shoulders and moved on. There wasn't a constant lump torturing his throat at the thought of her. The only difference was that he wanted to get over his mother abandoning them. But this,  Mickey Milkovich, he wasn't sure he wanted to be over it.  
  
He was at war with himself. One half, the pathetic part, still smiled at memories of fist fights and the bitter taste of alcohol on hot breath. The other half, the fake part, pretended to be perfectly happy with his new boyfriend and the lack of passion that had taken over his life.  
  
Boyfriend. Right. He had one of those now. Someone his age who treated him well. Even if he was kind of annoying and clingy, Ian needed Daniel. He needed the distraction. He needed to prove to himself and especially to his family that he wasn't dwelling on the past and that he wasn't going to pull a Monica and try to slit his throat or something. Because he could tell that's what they had been thinking - the way they had been treating him so delicately since his return. The attention was nice, sure, but it felt more suffocating than he'd imagined.  
  
It was snowing as he pushed the door to the Kash N grab open and stepped outside. The air was cold enough that he could feel the hairs in his nostrils already freezing. But the flakes were light and non-committed, so much so that they weren't even sticking to the pavement yet. Ian hoped they wouldn't - the last thing he wanted to do was wake up early in the morning to come down and shovel the walk in front of the store.  
  
The lock to the door was such a piece of shit. From the inside it worked fine, but trying to lock it once you were outside was like trying to solve some complex alien code. You had to lift it off it's hinges just right and slide the key when it hitched or else you were fucked. He'd never hated an inanimate object so much in his life.  
  
An annoyed huff from behind startled him. Ian almost dropped the key but before he could react Mickey was grabbing it from his palm and shoving him out of the way with a firm shoulder. He pulled up on the handle and turned the lock into place with ease.  
  
After that, Mickey just sort of stood in front of him, weight shifting from one foot to another repeatedly. He sure looked like he wanted to say something.. But as usual, there was nothing coming out of his mouth other than puffs of steam. The redhead crossed his arms and stared. He was happier to see him than he was bothered but that just made him annoyed with himself so the enjoyment was short lived. There was no way he would be the first one to speak. Not this time.  
  
"You stalking me now, Mick?" His willpower was far weaker than he tried to allege. Although it was strange, running into him twice in two days when they had successfully managed to avoid each other for over two months.  
  
"You wish." Mickey's fingers came up to run through his dark hair. Ian couldn't tell if he was nervous or coked out of his mind. Or both. But his demeanor had changed - his shoulders were hunched and his head leaned slightly down and to the right, away from him. "I got a bottle of your favorite." Milkovich pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from his coat, eyebrows raised up knowingly when he finally turned his head to look at him. "Come on, come have a drink with me." The way he thought he could still demand Ian into doing things was laughable. Even though Ian may or may not have choked down words of compliance when Mickey's hand motioned for him to follow along down the street.  
  
"It's freezing." Ian shoved his hands in his coat pockets, swaying to the side oddly, like he was trying to work up the nerve to walk away.  
  
" _So_?" Mickey stopped and turned back around, reaching for the redhead's elbow but he pulled away too quickly to let him.  
  
"I'm supposed to meet someone." Ian was going to run out of excuses and he needed Mickey to back down before he caved. It would happen too fast and it would just make him feel ashamed of himself. For letting such a fucking idiot overpower what he thought was right and wrong.  
  
"Who? Your boyfriend?" Milkovich scoffed with a roll of his eyes. His face twisted in disgust as he looked Ian over, shaking his head. "Didn't think that was your type, Gallagher."  
  
"I think it's pretty obvious I don't have a type." Except he knew his type was guys with tattoos and bad attitudes towards life. He just couldn't bring himself to let another one ruin what was left of him.  
  
"Yeah well, between Grandpa, Towel Head and that fuckin' K-Mart Blue Light Special you call a boyfriend now, I'd say your type is shit." Mickey had dropped the bottle down in front of him, his fingers anxiously dancing over the glass.  
  
"Don't sell yourself short and forget about the Courageless Convict. You're right, though. My type is utter shit." Ian knew his words stung by the way the other took a step back, always trying to separate himself from real emotion. As if moving further away would make it any less real. Like Ian couldn't hurt him from a distance.  
  
Mickey brought the bottle up, pointing a finger that was covered in scrapes at the redhead. "Hey, fuck you," he started, the security of harsh words letting him take a step forward this time. It took him a little while to decide what he was going to say and by the time he did, Ian had already decided it wouldn't matter anyway. "I had the courage to come here, didn't I?"  
  
"To what? Manipulate me into making you feel better about yourself?" The redhead's retort was met with a heavy, aggravated sigh. The other boy moved back again and Ian wondered if he knew how stupid he looked, how fucking transparent he was. Mickey looked conflicted but shrugged off the resentment, holding the bottle back up like some kind of peace offering.  
  
"Haven't heard you say no yet, and you're outta excuses. You coming or not?" Maybe Ian was just as see-through and he shouldn't judge people so harshly. Maybe he didn't fucking care. About any of this.  
  
When it came to fight or flight, he was slowly turning into a flight kinda guy. Sure, it hadn't worked out for him at all but neither had trying. At least when you walked away you could pretend to believe all the lies you told yourself about being strong and resilient. Everyone had always said he was just like his mother, maybe it was the truth.  
  
"Gallagher, wait," the sound of boots against the sidewalk was steadily chasing behind him and Ian couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle what a lying contradiction Mickey had turned himself into. How much he hated him for always saying one thing and then doing another. If his actions could just meet with his voice for one god damn minute, things would be different.  
  
" _Ian_." The street fell silent and he knew he was no longer being followed. Something made them both stop in their tracks and Ian glared down at the sidewalk, chest tightening. "Walk away one more fuckin' time man, and I'm done."  
  
"Didn't you say you were done like, two years ago?"  
  
"Look, you wanna hate me, fine. But will you stop with the god damn pity party? I'm here. I want to talk to you. Isn't that what you always wanted? To fucking _talk_?"  
  
The blueprints of their downfall were clearly laid out in front of them. They were shown in the way Ian began to walk with him down the street, apparently not another word needing to be said. And the way Mickey looked over at him, like he wanted him to shove him against a wall and fuck him right there. His decisions kept becoming poorer and poorer. But there would be plenty of time to worry about that later. He was an addict who needed a fix and he would justify it in his head until it killed him.  
  
The cellphone in his pocket vibrated, a stupid chime following shortly. But that was the last time he thought about Daniel that night.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
         They hid from the snow underneath the train tracks. The redhead had plopped himself down on a large power supply box while he watched the other pull over a metal barrel that had been sawed in half, throwing the random sticks and leaves that were still dry.  Once he had started a fire, Ian over-zealously moved his hands too close and the nerves on his fingertips prickled at the warmth. Mickey sat down next to him and the body heat or just the electricity from being so close made the makeshift fire pit seem unnecessary.  
  
"Why aren't you wearin' gloves?"  
  
"Oh, I must have forgot to bring some when you asked me if I wanted to do this earlier. You know, like a _normal_ person does."  
  
"No ones holdin' ya hostage." Mickey's teeth gripped at a fingertip of his glove, first his left hand, then his right. Ian was surprised when they were offered over. After a second of contemplation, he gratefully pulled them on and his lips were then pressing to the bottle of alcohol, like it contained the secret that would mend everything.  
  
"Mandy tell you I got off probation?" Milkovich knocked his knee against his, signaling for him to hand the whiskey over. He complied and shook his head. "Yeah well, no more pissin' in a cup or paying a shitload of money for restitution each month. I was thinkin' about gettin' an apartment for me and Lana a couple blocks over. It's cheap enough."  
  
"So what did you wanna talk about." Ian curled up his fists so forcefully he could feel his veins bulging underneath the thick material of the gloves.  He didn't come here to bullshit about fake marriages and prostitutes. Didn't sincerely know why he had come at all. (Except for the fact that the scent of cigarettes and beer had lured him away from practical decisions).   
  
Mickey was staring down at his hands. They were turning pink from the frigid air slowing down his blood circulation. He should have thought about giving the gloves back but he figured it probably felt good on the damaged skin. Was seeing him with someone else the reason a face or a wall had been beaten in? The thought was comforting but that might have made him a worse person so he didn't inquire. "I don't know," Mickey shrugged finally, stretching his fingertips out wide enough to force the wounds back open and let the numbing cold in.  
  
As if Ian had actually stupidly expected anything else, disappointment smoldered inside him. Enough so that he decided to look over at Mickey with one more spiteful glance before he was going to leave, save them both another pointless argument. It sounded like such a good idea right then and he was cemented in it, but as usual something stopped him. Like a fucking puppet, he was moving and breathing on someone else's accord and he was fed up with it. It could be crippling. And he tried, truly tried to tell himself to stop it, for the love of god stop being such a fag but it was all in vain and subsided at the unguarded eyes staring back at him. His thumb came up to wipe at a snowflake that was stuck to the older boy's eyelash. Mickey just looked at him, allowing the touch.  
  
"I ruined everything, you know. With the army, I mean. That lawyer said there was no way they'd ever let me back in now." Ian's feet were kicking down against the metal of the box and the other boy kept looking at him like it was annoying but he didn't stop.  
  
"Yeah well, let's be honest. You probably weren't ever gonna get into West Point anyway." That should have offended him. Seriously, it should have. But it didn't. Mickey was just speaking the truth that no one else had the nerve to say. He had seen it written out plainly on Lip's face a thousand times.  
  
Ian mustered out a sarcastic thanks and Milkovich had opened his mouth as if he were going to say something more, but faltered when the ground and supports of the tracks started to shake as a train roared by above them.  
  
"I missed you." And sure, the obnoxious rattling may have drowned out his words to the point where tone couldn't be distinguished. It could have been the most insincere declaration ever but the dark haired boy didn't necessarily do insincere and there was no expectant look on his face once it grew quiet again. One thing about Mickey Milkovich, he had never asked for anything in return. Probably didn't know how to.  
  
Probably couldn't form the words even if he did.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
          This time, there would be no backpedaling. Mickey didn't know what had pushed the words out (and he kind of hoped the shaking ground would swallow them before they met the redhead's ears) but he nodded, affirming his decision.  
  
"Missed? Or miss?" Jesus christ. You couldn't give Gallagher an inch without him trying to take a fucking light year.  
  
"Save it."  
  
Mickey had to take one of those stupid juvenile therapy classes for probation a few years back. He remembered this addiction specialist trying to talk to them about repressing feelings being dangerous and shit. That was Mickey's cue to tune out normally, but the teacher had started saying that emotions were like trash cans and that just sounded so fucking stupid, he couldn't help but listen. Just for the amusement and ammunition. Just because he couldn't believe someone thought that was a good enough metaphor to fucking instruct with.  
  
Basically, the gist of it was that you could keep stuffing trash down more and more, shove the lid back on again and again. Eventually, you'll get so full you'll try to shove in one more tiny piece and it'll end up exploding, leaving you with nothing but rotten trash everywhere and an even bigger mess to clean up. Mickey Milkovich refused to be compared to a fucking trash can. So that was all Ian was going to get out of him. For the foreseeable future, anyway.  
  
"You know why I married her, right?" Okay, so maybe he was just a huge dumpster full of shit. Maybe it felt good to take out the trash once in a while. Maybe he was hallucinating this entire thing and tomorrow he'd wake up with no recollection. That'd be alright.  
  
"My dad was gonna kill you if I didn't." The look on Ian's face confused the shit out of him. Almost like Ian had never even thought of the possibility that Mickey had married Svetlana for reasons that weren't purely selfish. "So fuck you for being such a bitch about the whole thing." He still needed to hang onto some pride, right? After all, he hadn't really changed. This had all just been seething underneath a thin layer of skin. It stretched so taut sometimes that it hurt when he laid awake in bed at night, never seeming to be able to get comfortable.  
  
"We could have left. Gotten out of here."  
  
A bitter laugh escaped his mouth at the naivety. It was just like Ian, to have all these retarded thoughts and ideas. Like thinking they had nothing to be ashamed of. Like thinking it wouldn't be just as bad anywhere else. Mickey wasn't much for metaphors, but if he was, there was definitely one hiding beneath all of this.  
  
"And go where?" He scoffed, shaking his head. He didn't want to make Ian feel stupid but maybe he should. Maybe his problem was that life hadn't torn him down enough to see the meaningless truth of it all. "I couldn't ever get a regular job somewhere else, white picket fence and all that faggotry. Wouldn't want to." As much as tried, he couldn't see himself being anywhere but here. Nothing but the south side made sense to Mickey and he wasn't much for change. "This is all we know, man. You can't run away from this shit. Might as well just embrace it."  
  
"Mickey," Ian had sighed out, shifting himself closer. No one had ever taught him a god damn thing about personal space. "Why did you bring me out here? What do you need from me?" The redhead's hand moved to the base of his neck and he wished he hadn't given him those stupid fucking gloves. That way he might be able to find comfort in the feeling of Ian's touch instead of shuddering against scratchy material.  
  
He knew this time would be no different than all of the rest but still, he was stubbornly resolved in trying to barter actions over words. And he didn't care if Gallagher had a fucking boyfriend. Because there was never any closure before. Just the sounds of choked back sobs and frustrated grunts.  
  
The kiss he had pressed against Ian's mouth wasn't familiar. It wasn't hungry and devouring. It was soft, breakable, like he was trying to heal the other's chapped lips with every brush of his own. He felt the glove against the back of his neck move up to tangle in his hair and pushed closer.  
  
What he thought was encouragement had turned out to be Ian's planned way of escaping, using the grip on the dark short hairs to pull him away. "That's not what I meant.." Ian mumbled out, eyes moving to stare at the frost on the ground. He still hadn't moved his hand away only the touch was no longer one he was content with. It just pissed him off now. So, he reached up and yanked Ian's arm down. He didn't handle rejection well but that was his own burden and he didn't want to fucking talk about it, okay?  
  
"I meant.. I mean, I think we both know there's nothing we can do here. You know? So I meant, like, what do you need from me to move on." Move on? Sure, he had bitched like a faggot about closure. That didn't mean he wanted any. "Because I know what I need from you."  
  
"What?" He didn't want to know, really. Didn't want to have knowledge of something that could make this all go away. Because in the heat of the moment, in a place where he was backed against a wall, he knew he would use it and ruin everything. For good.  
  
"Just tell me you don't love me. Please. If you don't, if you're not capable, at least be man enough to say it." It was funny, how whether Ian pleaded for Mickey to deny it or admit it, he still had the same gut reaction of wanting to sock the asshole in his face. But his hands already stung because of Gallagher so, whatever.  
  
"I'm not gonna lie, just so you can feel better. I'm not here to help you fuckin' sleep at night." It wasn't until he processed the change in the redhead's expression that he realized something. He had just been tricked into admitting his feelings and the cloudy haze of whiskey he'd been steadily sucking down had betrayed him into not even noticing it.  
  
Gallagher pulled a glove off and reached the hand for Mickey's cheek, like he knew that he needed the flesh on flesh contact to ground him. He knew things he shouldn't. He knew way too fucking much, period. It seemed as if everything had just gotten really serious, the way they were staring at each other right now. The way there was nothing between them but thick, white steam pouring from their lips.  
  
"Mickey. I love you." It sounded like Ian was trying to reassure him or some shit. As if the arrogant little cunt didn't know he'd never actually said those words either. It'd been almost ten years since anyone had told him that and it hit him with anything but grace. Like he was a crash test dummy slamming into a brick wall over and over. Only in a sickeningly good way.  
  
And if he could make Ian feel half as good.. Then he just might. Because it was now obvious to Mickey why the redhead had wanted to hear it so badly. Why the actions didn't compare to the sentence. He'd already accepted he loved Ian anyway. If he was honest, he'd accepted it a long time ago. Before the jealousy, before the first kiss. Probably as soon as he acknowledged he couldn't kill Frank. It's just the maze in his head had stopped him from seeing the end, seeing a way out, finally admitting it. Acceptance was easy, just a punishment he could live with inside his head. Admittance? That meant accountability. Why did he think all of these were bad things? Because everything and everyone had taught them they were. So, he sighed and he shook his head. His jaw clenched down, his own body being tenacious with impulses that felt wrong.  
  
".. Fuck it. I love you, too."   
  
The grin he received was so fucking dopey and ridiculous, he couldn't help but smile a little too. Only it was at him, not with him. Just to be clear.  
  
Just like everything else, their elation was short lived. Because that should've fixed everything, right? Being that it was all Ian had ever wanted. But he could see it dawning all over the redhead's face - his own stomach sinking when they reached the same conclusion silently. Saying those words didn't change anything. They were still stuck here, stuck in this terrible situation. Only now they were more vulnerable than ever.  
  
Mickey reached for the pack of smokes in his pocket, taking out two and lighting them both at the same time. He held one out to Ian, both of them taking a drag at the same time. The smoke from each of their mouths collided between their bodies before dissipating into the air.  
  
"So, what the fuck do we do now."  



	9. the bigger they are, the harder they fall

  
  
             "I guess we just do this. Exist here for a while. With the running and hiding and sneaking. I don't know.. I missed you, too, Mick and I always seem to be running anyway. Might as well be worth it for once. We'll figure something out eventually."  Ian sighed out, shrugging. He seemed more interested in trying to warm Mickey's hands up between his own than he was really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. But it was so good to hear - the sound of him rambling. It's something the older boy had missed more than he would ever concede to. "I mean, I can't do this forever. I won't."  
  
Mickey nodded but only because Gallagher had glared at him and squeezed his hands for emphasis, making the cuts sear in pain. He was still in a total daze, honestly. Couldn't comprehend what had actually just happened. But Ian seemed pleased. That was enough to dull the regret.  
  
He wanted to say something condescending, he wanted to wipe that smile off of the redhead's face.. Well okay, he didn't really want to do any of those things, but he desperately wished he did. Sometimes he would day dream about how his life would be different if he would have just bashed the redhead's face in with that tire iron the day he had the balls to stumble into his house and demand shit. Not because it was what he really wanted, more just because it reminded him how much simpler things would be. When he could just live the lie. Hide in it. Let it surround him until he could taste it and believe it.  
  
It was still fucking cold and Mickey didn't even blink when the other boy scooted closer for warmth. It only started to annoy him when Ian curled underneath his coat, letting cold air in but also letting freckled skin press up against his side between a thin layer of material. He felt a muscle twitch at the touch. He felt sick.  
  
"You deserve better, you know."  
  
There were no more vacancies in his mind for naive fantasies about things being different. This wasn't going to go away and even though the lurch of his stomach as Ian's hand dropped down to his thigh was better than the gnawing emptiness he felt when the boy wasn't there, it didn't make his words any less valid.  
  
"Then maybe someday you'll give it to me." That was a bold statement. Barring a major incident or half of his family dying in a fire, he wasn't sure better would ever be an option. He didn't want to explain how he couldn't leave Svetlana. Or question the fact that Ian still had a fucking boyfriend and how three stupid words should not have made Gallagher do a complete turn around so quickly. It felt like that might kinda ruin the moment. Milkovich smirked, wondering to himself how he'd ever started caring about shit like that.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Ian questioned as he glanced up at him. Mickey rolled his eyes and scoffed, shouldering the redhead away from him so that he could pull his coat back tightly around his torso.  
  
"Right now all I can think about is how you always ask the dumbest fuckin' questions." Things that would insult anyone else just caused Ian to laugh. The kid was fucked in the head.  
  
"Fair enough." The redhead jumped off the box, moving to stand in between the older boy's legs. It looked like he was about to kiss him for a second and Mickey almost jerked away out of habit before Ian stopped short, simply pressing their foreheads together. "Thank you for everything you did. I mean, the lawyer, bonding me out. You saved my ass. Lip's even on your side, so you musta proven something.. Not that you have anything to prove," Ian added quickly before Mickey could speak up. "Just.. I'm sorry, for how I handled everything."  
  
"You wanna come with me tomorrow? I gotta go collect from a few people up North," Mickey wasn't much for gratitude or any of that crap, but he was sure Ian could see the apology hidden beneath lame offerings. He just wanted to forget all of this and go back to when they could just hang out, maybe bang a few times and not complicate the fuck out of everything.  
  
"Sure," the redhead smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. He cleared his throat in protest and he didn't kiss him back but it's not like he pulled away either. What, was this something they did all the fucking time now? He felt Ian shake against him, trying to huddle closer for the body heat once again.  
.  
"Go home, Gallagher. Before the clock strikes midnight and you turn into a fuckin' icicle." Mickey pulled away and finished off the last of the whiskey, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth afterwards. Ian just nodded and stared at him in this unnerving way that made his skin prickle. Like he was trying to decipher the true meaning behind every bullshit breath of air.

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, then.. And, I guess I won't have to tell myself I'm the only one looking forward to it, for once." The redhead handed back Mickey's gloves and as he was slipping them on he felt frigid lips press against his cheek. Before he could come up with something negative to say, the other's presence had left and by the time everything registered, Ian was nothing but a shadow walking beneath snow filled lamplights.

  
They would never have a happily ever after and if Gallagher honestly thought they could for even a millisecond, he needed intensive therapy. Mickey would always be the more logical one - he was sure they were just some fatal car crash, the kind you see is going to happen from a distance. Always bracing for the impact. It was a shitty feeling and he wanted to scream from the exposure to all these things that wouldn't necessarily make either one of them happier - but fuck, at least it made them feel alive.  
  
Once in a while, in the real world at least, settling for less was more than enough.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is short but i wanted to keep it simple. i hope it wasn't a major let down.. :/ i just can't bring myself to write some fairy tale ending and this felt more natural. thanks for all the wonderful feedback!


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